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<title>you pour the gasoline and i'll strike the match by saintazula</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842675">you pour the gasoline and i'll strike the match</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintazula/pseuds/saintazula'>saintazula</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/F, Lovers To Enemies, more like childhood friends to lovers to enemies to strangers, read authors note for additional warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:27:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintazula/pseuds/saintazula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mai throws off her balance. Every minute spent in her company pushes Azula closer and closer to the edge. She wonders if that’s a good thing or not.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azula &amp; Ursa (Avatar), Azula &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Azula/Mai (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you pour the gasoline and i'll strike the match</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>PLEASE READ! idk if i should tw this but there are nondetailed descriptions of wounds and blood. </p><p>also heinous overuse of fragment sentences</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Azula remembers the first day she met Mai. She remembers the exact moment their eyes locked. She remembers the coldness in them, the razor-sharp edge in her gaze. Like the girl was trying to flay her alive with a single glance. </p><p>The look was cold too, to the point of being painful. So cold that Azula couldn’t suppress the shiver that danced up her spine, weak and monstrous. Azula was so used to burning. Burning and burning and burning. The frigid awful iciness of the young girl’s stare was an agonizing balm to Azula’s soul. A balance to the never-ceasing, all-consuming fire. </p><p>(Later, much later, Azula will learn that she can’t balance out pain by piling on more of it. All that does is tip the scale, farther and farther, until it’s toppling over and taking everything with it, leaving no way to right it again) </p><p>+</p><p>Mai and Zuko are sitting side by side, their shoulders touching, throwing bread in the pond for the insufferable turtleducks Zuzu and mother loved so dearly. </p><p>Something awful stirs in Azula’s stomach. Ugly and burning and festering. Like she had swallowed her own flames and they were slowly eating her from the inside out. </p><p>Zuko always has to ruin <em> everything.  </em></p><p>She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She does neither. </p><p>She walks away and trains as if her own flames could somehow purge her of this weakness. Of this wicked, awful, ugliness. </p><p>Once she achieves perfection there will be no doubting who is more worthy. Worthy of the throne, worthy of father and mother’s affection, worthy of love. </p><p>If she let out one monstrous, roaring wall of fire to block out her own screaming, that is between her and her flames. Between the thin line of complete control and utter decimation. </p><p>+</p><p>Azula’s been balancing on a cliffs edge her whole life, precariously peering over the side trying to get a glimpse at what one might find at the bottom. </p><p>Mai throws off her balance. Every minute spent in her company pushes Azula closer and closer to the edge. She wonders if that’s a good thing or not. </p><p>(Later, much later, Azula will find that it was simultaneously the best and worst thing Mai could’ve done for her.)</p><p>+</p><p>Mother is gone and Azula should be happier for it. But she’s not. She can’t understand why she’s not. </p><p>Mother was weak. She made Zuko weak as well. It’s a good thing she’s gone, so Azula can’t explain why she feels something akin to pure, blood-chilling dread seeping into her stomach.</p><p>She doesn’t have time to think on it long before Mai sits stiffly beside her. </p><p>Azula wants to ask why she’s not comforting sweet little Zuzu (who Azula knows has most likely gone to father, screaming and crying about mother, which will do nothing but insight his wrath). Azula wants to spit something caustic and cruel, something bitter and brutal. Azula wants to claw at Mai until she’s been dragged just as low as she has. </p><p>But before Azula can get a word out Mai wraps her hand around Azula’s wrist. It’s cold, so cold it burns like the lick of flames. Her nails dig into her skin, drawing shining beads of blood. </p><p>Azula bites the inside of her cheek and turns back to the pond, watching as the pitiful waves lap at nothing. </p><p>+</p><p>Zuko’s banishment was necessary. He is weak, not fit for a throne of fire. Father knows this, Azula knows this, and Zuko himself knows it. </p><p>Azula repeats this to herself over and over as she navigates the twists and turns of the Fire Palace, drawing closer and closer to Mai’s rooms. </p><p>She doesn’t knock as she swings open the doors.</p><p>Mai is out on the balcony, eyes distant towards the setting sun. Azula joins her. </p><p>Azula could have said something cruel, something to pick at Mai’s obvious wound. She could pick and pick and pick. Tear Mai open as she has managed to do to Azula time and time again. </p><p>But Azula remembers the kindness Mai had shown her when her mother had disappeared. And Azula is nothing if not acutely aware of the debt she owes for that. </p><p>So Azula wraps her hand around Mai’s wrist, as she had done to Azula so long ago. </p><p>It’s an anchor. It’s a shackle. </p><p>It’s the only kind touch either girl will get for years to come. </p><p>+</p><p>They meet again for the first time in far too long. </p><p>“Please tell me you’re here to kill me.”</p><p>Mai’s smile slices through her cleaner than any knife she could have thrown. It hurts. It always hurts. Azula had forgotten that. </p><p>All she can do is grip Mai’s shoulders tighter. Letting go has never been an option. </p><p>+</p><p>Their lips crash, sharp and awful. Like two clashing daggers in the night. </p><p>Mai bites at Azula’s lips, drawing blood. </p><p>Azula grabs a fistful of Mai’s hair and pulls until she lets out a sharp hiss of pain. </p><p>That’s all they can do. Push and push and push until one of them cracks under the pressure. Until one of them finally surrenders. </p><p>+</p><p>
  <em> You miscalculated.  </em>
</p><p>Two words are all it takes to finally send Azula hurtling off the cliff she’s been teetering on her whole life. Down and down and down she goes. She doesn’t scream. She can’t. </p><p>There’s no end. </p><p>She’s freefalling. </p><p>(Later, much later, Azula will understand that this was necessary. She will understand but can't forgive. </p><p>Neither of them can forgive. </p><p>How can they, when the wounds they left on each other never heal? Bound to stay open and bloody instead of scabbing and scarring over. A constant, agonizing reminder of everything they were.)</p><p>But, eventually, when the dust has settled and too many years have passed, it will become impossible to remember a time when they were anything but strange ghosts to each other. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...............something about maizula just brings out my unbearably pretentious side. im sorry</p></blockquote></div></div>
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